


Bean There (Brewed That)

by Wordsmith_Storyweaver



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-26
Updated: 2015-05-13
Packaged: 2018-03-09 05:19:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3237758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wordsmith_Storyweaver/pseuds/Wordsmith_Storyweaver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on several prompts from Tumblr: Coffee Shop AU and Anonymous Love Letters AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this is going to be (relatively) short and fluffy. It's based on a mash-up of prompts from Tumblr, but primarily is a coffee shop AU and a series of anonymous love letters. I recognize that there might possibly be a creep factor in Killian's decision to leave little notes for Emma, but please remember that this is completely fictional. This fic is dedicated to my friend Carmina; Captain Swan is her escape of choice, and mine too obviously, and we wanted some relatively uncomplicated fluff. This one's for you, sweetie! Enjoy!

At times, it feels like he's been watching her forever. Not in a creepy, stalkery way—she's been a regular customer for almost a year now and he still doesn't know her name. He doesn't even know what she does for a living—film writer, TV writer, playwright top the list of professions for people who spend most of their days attached to their laptops, tablets, and smart phones here at Bean There (Brewed That)—but somehow she doesn't strike him as a Hollywood hot-shot or wannabe. There was that week where she didn't show at all, but then was back with an amazing tan and lighter streaks of gold in her hair, so he added travel journalist as a possibility. He only knows her as Swan.

Whether it's the morning's Red-eye or mid-afternoon hot chocolate with cinnamon or even her very rare evening chai latte, she always goes by Swan. Since he was always working the bar, chances of small talk to charm it out of her are pretty thin on the ground. And even if he were tempted to look up her name on the register receipts at the end of every night it would be the height of bad form to go behind her back like that and invade her privacy. So every day as he brews and steams and blends, he imagines what her world is like and if she has someone whether they make her feel loved and cherished.

* * *

She's been living in the greater Los Angeles area for a year and a half now, the second longest stretch anywhere but she's also moved four times. With all the suburban sprawl each move has landed her in incredibly different areas, so sticking around hasn't felt as claustrophobic and panic-inducing as usual. But strange a reason as it may sound, moving away sounds less than appealing when put in the context of finding a new, non-corporate, non-chain, honest-to-goodness coffee shop. (Okay, it is a pathetically sad reason, but great atmosphere, free Wi-Fi, an okay music selection, AND good coffee served by an insanely hot guy with an accent who's taken to drawing a really detailed swan around every single cup instead of her name?!) Yes. Emma Swan—kicker of delinquent asses, righter of wrongs, fierce right hook for the wives and kids and parents left holding the bag for their scum relatives—refuses to let her usual case of Cabin Fever develop into Get-Outta-Dodge-Itis because of a cute barista who makes a dreamy cup of cocoa. But she only knows him as Killian.

Well, that's what his nametag says at any rate. And what the cashiers call him when things are running smoothly—Gilligan when orders are backed up. It's almost always just him at the bar and a single cashier, like he has nothing better to do with his life than make coffee for complete strangers. If Neal and the rest of her dating history is anything to go by—her bitchy inner monologue chimes in, sounding just like her bitter, old high school guidance counselor Ms. Turner—his obvious lack of ambition is right up her alley. So instead of packing up her belongings, she finds herself signing a six-month extension on her lease, continuing her days of bail-bonds research fueled by Bean There (Brewed That), and still finding excuses not to ask the aforementioned barista out for a drink other than coffee.


	2. First Letter

One of the first things you noticed about Bean There was that absolutely everything clashed. The second thing you noticed was that the vibrant patterns and colors and eclectic pieces of furniture were actually chosen for a strange, yet appealing harmony based on their very differences. What little you could see of the walls were carefully papered with what looked like a mix of old maps of the world and major cities, all in any language except English. Emma's favorite addition to the multi-cultural blend were the low, deep chair and squat daybed piled high with cushions surrounding a low coffee table; the clear Indian influence meant that she could contort into the most comfortable position without having to worry about back and laptop support (which were usually mutually exclusive prospects in your average coffee shop). She's thought of this little, mostly secluded nook as belonging to her, so she's surprised to come in one morning and find a folded, marked newspaper sitting on her favorite cushion.

She looks up and starts scanning the normal crowd of patrons—right Emma, because the bad guys always make it easy for you by hovering at the scene of a crime! And she doesn't know what's worse, that she actually has internally claimed a spot in a public establishment or that her first thoughts fly to the nefarious when she sees something out of the ordinary. More than a little curious, she picks up the newspaper only to reveal an envelope with the name Swan written in beautiful script and blue ink. She stares at it for a moment before she goes back to the paper; it's folded and marked at the advice column, so clearly she's meant to see this first.

* * *

 

_"Dear Mary Margaret, There's a young lady who goes to the same coffee shop as I do and suffice to say she's more than caught my fancy. Yet she seems very introverted, often appearing sad and very much alone, and I don't want to seem too forward or come off as anything but a gentleman. I've thought about approaching her in a hundred different ways… Mostly, I just would like her to know that seeing her brightens my day, that her presence makes the world beautiful and full of possibility, that—from a distance at least—she has someone who deeply cares for her happiness. And now that I've officially stepped into weirdo territory, any ideas?_

_Sincerely, Cautious with Caffeine"_

_"Dear Cautious, You may be surprised, but that letter is one of the most romantic things I have ever had the chance to answer! If your lady friend is skittish as you say though, there's probably a reason behind it. She may have been burned in love before or in another relationship. No one actually thinks it's fun to be rejected, but sometimes the risk is worth the rewards and taking a leap of faith may be called for. But if you need to work up the courage to talk to her, or if you feel that the direct approach will not be welcomed, try writing her a little note. Let her know that she matters to someone. If she's receptive to a little anonymous praise, then maybe working up to a more direct compliment would be called for down the line? Best of luck to you!_

_Sincerely, Mary Margaret"_

* * *

Her first impulse is seething rage, followed closely by weirded-out disgust. Someone has been watching her here at Bean There?! But before she can charge up to the counter and demand that the cashier contact the owner immediately so that she can view the security footage and find out which of the suddenly disreputable-looking coffee addicts penned a letter to an advice column looking to score with her. But then his word choices seep in. He noticed her isolation and was considerate enough to know that there was, as "Dear Mary Margaret" put it, a reason behind her cool and distant façade. He worried about coming on too strong, wanting to respect her space while reaching out to her all the same. It was…sweet, in a somewhat junior-high way. Taking a breath and hoping that she won't later regret the impulse, Emma flips the envelope over and tears it open.

_Swan,_

_I only know this name because it's what the baristas call you when your order's up. It's a beautiful name and perfect for you—graceful and elegant without any seeming effort._

_-An Admirer_

Just a compliment, but the thought and planning clearly involved in delivering it warmed Emma all the way to her toes. There were no string attached to it either—no request for her first name, no demand that she smile more (like the average guy on the street would attempt to solicit out of her, as if she existed only to please them)—nothing except to let her know that her presence in this place, in this moment actually mattered to someone. That he would notice and care and worry if she were to suddenly disappear from his daily routine. And for just a moment, she remembered the ache of leaving last foster home where she had been well treated, where she had briefly forgotten what being a lost girl had felt like.

* * *

 

Killian thanks his lucky stars that he's not rushed when his Swan comes through the front doors. Her back is to him though when she finds and reads both the column and his note, so he can only decipher her emotions from the tension in her shoulders, in the tilt and motion of her head on her long, graceful neck. But when she brings the scrap of paper up over her heart in her fist, he releases the breath he had been holding and smiles. Maybe he has a chance of reaching her after all.


	3. Getting to Know You

Emma had a few suspicions as to the identity of her mystery admirer—but if she's being honest with herself, there's only one person she's actively hoping it is. She also figured that grilling the staff and the other regulars would be considered cheating—"bad form" as he called it in his advice column letter—so she decided to play along. She might not date because she was burned in the past, but she also considered that her pen pal might just be painfully shy, which could be another reason for their caution.

The next day she pinned a note of her own on the community corkboard near the bar, addressed to Cautious, just as she was leaving for the day. If her admirer wanted to keep up the air of mystery for now, she'd respect his wishes…

First response: _I have to say that I am impressed. While I don't usually punch someone in the face just for complimenting me, I do have a tendency to brush them off. You clearly wanted to capture my attention in a good way; you've succeeded. Do I get to know who you are? Do we play a game of twenty questions? Now that you have my attention, how do you intend to keep it?_

_–Swan_

His second note was placed on her table alongside a single rose placed in a slim plastic vase. The lavender colored petals had barely begun to curl out of the bud, meaning it would survive for several days if she gave it enough water, and all the thorns had been removed.

_My dear Swan, What is in a name? While I am atremble and afire at the very notion of having arrested your attention, your lack of trust (though understandable) yet wounds me! Perhaps an enigma shall keep your interest keen. For now, let me say that I live in hope that my message finds favor, dear Swan._

_Your devoted and patient, Cautious._

It took Emma only a minute to realize that he meant the flower and to fire up her laptop. She smiled when she read, "The lavender rose is often a sign of enchantment and love at first sight. Those who have been enraptured by feelings of love and adoration have used lavender roses to express their romantic feelings and intentions. The color purple also has a traditional association with royalty," and "a thornless rose of any color denotes an early or new attachment as well as love at first sight."

_Love implies that both parties are involved. And you hardly know me, Cautious. I could be a complete psycho for all you know and single because I get clingy too fast._

_–Swan_

_My dear Swan, Love comes in many forms, including admiration. I know that you work hard, always here slaving away on your computer. I have seen others approach you, and if you were the type to become overly attached quickly, you would have no doubt accepted those suitors' proposals. Yet you have no trouble giving a good dressing down to those who are less than gentlemanly about your rejection. You are strong and independent, qualities that are always to be admired. Please give me a chance to woo and court you, from behind this assumed name if you wish it to remain so. I would like to come to know you more, but will respect whatever distance you need._

_Yours truly, Cautious._

* * *

The replies flew back and forth, always with Emma posting her notes on the corkboard and with the ones to her inevitably found resting on her table as soon as she walked in the door. Tiny details were shared here and there over the course of a month, until finally Emma asked for a little more. When she jogged in breathlessly that particular morning, anxious to be the first customer through the door, the cashier had smiled and simply pointed her to her table. A still steaming mug sat just on the top edge of a note with her last name on it.

_My dearest Swan, At long last you ask something telling of myself! Let me first thank you for the trust you have shown me thus far (and for not mocking my turn of phrase too much!) in our correspondence. This morning I took the liberty or ordering your usual, which I hope was not too forward of me. However, as I own the establishment, and as you and I have come to be well acquainted, I can very well supply you with a free libation or two._

_Yours ever, C._

_The mystery deepens, it would seem! But you know that a simple search through public records could give me a name based on the info you have provided. I am happy to accept this free drink as my reward for not looking you up immediately; because I work in bail bonds, so tracking down people and money is kind of up my alley. Really, a gold star wouldn't be too much to ask either for not cheating. I'm curious about a lot of things actually, but I'll keep it simple for now. Why "Bean There (Brewed That)"? And I don't think I've seen you, and certainly haven't heard your employees talking about an enigmatic and eloquent boss (see, I do crossword puzzles too!)… But seriously: clearly intelligent, successful business owner, ridiculously old-fashioned romantic… How are you still single?!_

_–E. Swan_

* * *

His response came the next morning, this time with a single peach colored rose—gratitude, appreciation, and admiration according to her search engine.

_My Dearest Swan, Once more your show of trust leaves me humbled and flattered, and since curiosity proverbially tends to be fatal, I shall provide my lady with immediate satisfaction. The idea sprung from mine and my brother's service in the navy, travelling all over the world and experiencing different cultures along the way. As you know, coffee beans can be grown almost anywhere in the world, so why not open a shop reflective of that diversity. Alas, my brother never got to see our plans and dreams come true and I have not been able to travel since opening, but I certainly would like to see more of this lovely planet we inhabit._

_I must confess that when you first came in, I imagined some kind of globetrotting, glamorous occupation for you. You seem like a person quite at easy with conquering the world, and yet a bounty hunter makes perfect sense as well. Having, as previously noted, watched you verbally eviscerate an ignorant tosser or two, I can well imagine you providing them with a more physical comeuppance for their presumption. You are a bloody brilliant lass!_

_In regards to your last query, perhaps I have been simply too absorbed in the day to day running of my non-nautical ship to be bothered with dating. However, when a stunning woman such as you enters the room, even the dimmest of men must take notice and I have never been accused of being an idiot. Perhaps it is that no other could compare to you, my lady._

_In hope, K. Jones_


	4. Learning to Trust

Despite almost positively knowing her secret admirer’s identity, Emma still doesn’t say a word to the incredibly cute barista, Killian. On every morning cup, he’s taken to drawing her swan with a rose held in its beak or even a lakeside castle and evening setting. And each time she sees the new or different details, she smiles a little brighter and glances his way. He’s always busily working on the next order or meticulously wiping down the already spotless counter, but the blush that reaches all the way up to the tips of his adorably pointed ears (and seriously, who knew that freaking ears could be adorable?!) and the nervous touching of the back of his head tells her that he’s noticed her gaze and her grin.

Still she says nothing, because she’s terrified of breaking the dreamlike quality of their…friendship? Something about the anonymity of their notes to each other—perhaps a careful distance maintained through the barriers of ink and paper—has lead to a surreal yet deeply intimate, confessional rapport between them; one that she doesn’t want to shatter just yet.

She fears that it will end all too soon if translated from the page to the harsh, cruel realities of life; even though they have far too much in common for their own good. He offered his story of a messed up early life—a beloved mother dying of cancer and a father who split not long after, of the dashing figure of his older brother who had been informed much later about their mum’s passing and taken leave from his position in the Navy only to find his kid brother living on the streets. This earnest, open reply to her simple question about his youth had led to her own ruthless honesty regarding her own—not just abandoned, but left near a rest stop in the middle of nowhere. Their status as orphans, as kids who grew up faster than they should have had to cemented an understanding between them—there was no room for judgment on either side, as they both knew you did what you had to in order to survive.

Not that their sharing has been all darkness and shadows, but mixed in amid the normal revelations of various likes and dislikes—that he favored 80’s hair bands while she loved the Beach Boys and Reggae, and that she loved putting cinnamon on random foods because of a lot of bland cooking in group homes and he had a ridiculous sweet-tooth thanks to chocolate being the easiest thing to steal—were some of those harsher truths and experiences that they had managed to get through alone. He’d talked of losing his older brother while on a mission to rescue some rich man’s yacht from Sudanese pirates, about finding the woman he got sober for and wanted to spend the rest of his life with and discovering when he proposed that she was married, and planning on dropping him like yesterday’s news. She’d finally revealed the abuse she suffered in the foster system with various families before getting knocked up at 16 by a much older fireman, whose death in a tenement fire had caused her to miscarry from grief and depression… They are both lost souls with patched and mended broken hearts.

He’d shared about breaking things off with his high school sweetheart, Ursula, pushing her away because girls with a business-titan father and a full scholarship to Paris’ premiere Opera academy just didn’t end up with a dock rat turned navy man. She’d opened up about her only friend as a foster kid—a repeat runaway who’d ended up getting Emma kicked out of her last real home and family she’d known—and then about living on the streets for good after that. She’d even told him about Ingrid who was so close to adopting Emma at 12, until the state discovered that she was hiding a severe mental illness and ended up taking the foster kids away from her.

He’d described the agony of other missions gone wrong—with friends and comrades who never made it home or were never the same again. She’d told him about her close brush with the law and a long conversation over a cup of coffee with a young NYPD rookie named Beckett who helped her get a community service sentence and the name of a bounty hunter looking for an apprentice.

Strange as their beginnings might be and unconventional as this newly formed relationship may appear, Emma has never had as close a friend before as her pen pal—at least, one who hasn’t let her down. And since she’s never truly believed in herself as a  friend before—never an equal who has simply and easily embraced all her scars and flaws and walls—she’s afraid of what change might do, afraid to lose this precious, fragile trust.

Until the day after the obnoxious pre-med student working the register notices her tattoo for the first time. She smiles her bitchiest, snarkiest grin—because this guy always gets his flirt on with her and clearly doesn’t understand personal boundaries—when he rattles off the genus and species in Latin and asks her if it’s her favorite, and after looking her up and down asks if she has anymore hidden on her body.

“Yeah, no. I totally picked this out from a random page out of the artists’ portfolio and thought that I’d put it in a place where I could look at it every day. I’m shallow and unconcerned about what I permanently put on my body like that because it’s trendy.” The tongue-tied expression on his face as she strides away to her table is priceless.

But what’s even better is the next day, when he looks thoroughly embarrassed as he takes her order and on her table is a beautiful bouquet of buttercups in yellow, white, and a few shades she didn’t even know existed, with a light pink and a peach rose included. The attached note reads:

_Always, as you wish. You, my Swan, are as beautiful and deadly (when you want to be) as these flowers. I apologize for Victor’s rudeness yesterday—he will make a brilliant doctor, provided he doesn’t have to work too often with actual human beings. Please trust that he has been thoroughly put in his place and will not treat you with such disrespect again, at the peril of his employment. Although, I secretly must thank his ineptitude, for if I had known that these were your favorite, I would have switched from the roses before now.  –K._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, sorry I haven't updated this in a while; it kind of got lost in the pile of stuff to do. I started this fic (and wrote the first three parts of it) while waiting for surgery and pretty high on pain medications, so finding the thread of where I was going proved...problematic during recovery. The next part will definitely include face to face interaction and close out the story. It is still dedicated to the lovely Carmina, and a special thanks to those who nominated it and voted for it for the Tumblr Captain Swan awards (I have no idea how it did, but I was told that it got nominated. lol). Also, buttercup flowers are toxic to graze animals like sheep and cows, so it's not recommended that you eat them. (:


	5. Taking a Chance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter is here! Thank you all so much for the love you have shown this little fic. I hope I did you all proud. The Huntington Library is located in San Marino, CA (Pasadena area) and does exist as described. The "Passionate Kisses" rose variety is pink, ranging from a very light or "baby" pink to a much brighter, bolder tone.

Perhaps a remnant of his days in the Royal Navy, but Killian has a strict routine for opening the store every morning: arrive by 5 AM to receive the first newspaper and pastry delivery, open fifteen minutes later for his early morning commuter customers, work on the bar until 7 AM when his second employee arrives, fill out orders and do the daily paperwork until 8 AM when the bank will be open, take in last night's deposit and his change order to the merchant teller, and then back by 8:45 to receive the next bakery delivery. If someone calls in sick or runs late, it means waiting on the trip to the bank until the afternoon shift arrives, but mostly it's perfectly smooth sailing.

Except that this morning (naturally), he had scheduled himself for a rare day off, only to be called in to his shop by his bakery contact at Granny's—a lovely lass named Ruby who he thinks of as a good friend. She agrees to meet him at Bean There so they can sort through an issue with their daily orders; she's vague about the details over the phone, but mentions something or other about a specialty item being included in their most recent delivery requests.

He smiles at the low sounds of chatter and the gentle ambiance of the music that hits him as soon as he walks in. He waves at Victor and at Anna, the cheerful new girl who he just hired to work the register, and not so stealthily searches for long blonde hair and laughing green eyes. He's noticed that Swan smiles a lot more than she used to, even when clearly focused on her searches for nefarious individuals. Sadly, he fails to see her and sighs in disappointment. Ironically though, he spies Ruby sitting at his Swan's table; it almost feels wrong to see someone else, anyone else, in her usual spot, but he pulls up a chair and greets his widely grinning friend. He casts a suspicious glance at her and at the small Granny's delivery box placed on the table between them.

"Good morning, lass. What can a poor business owner like meself do for your charming self? You said our normal order was off."

She rolls her eyes at him, but her grin widens. "Actually, I'm here to do someone a favor, paying it forward if you want to think of it that way. What you can do, Jones, is be a big boy about all of this and take a chance. You deserve to be happy. Oh, and before I forget, here's today's paper."

On that cryptic note, she stands up and hands him a tri-folded newspaper before pressing a kiss to his cheek and walking out the door. He stares after her, entirely flustered by her comments and behavior; it takes him a moment to shake off his confused daze, close his dropped jaw, and remember the paper in his hand. He straightens the page, eyes immediately drawn to a section circled in bright red ink:

_Dear Mary Margaret,_

_Several months ago you answered a letter from "Cautious with Caffeine" regarding giving a note of encouragement anonymously to a woman he admired. I wanted to let you know that he took your advice and that we have been pen pals ever since. What started off as a simple hello or a wish for a good day has become one of the most meaningful relationships I have ever had. I have shared more about myself and my past with my "anonymous" friend than anyone I have ever dated. And that's a part of my problem._

_Neither of us has had the best of luck in life and we have both been burned by love. I know for a fact that he's shy, and I am afraid that any change in our relationship will sort of doom it to failure. But I do know that I want more than what we have now: how do I know that the time is right? I'm not really good with words—more of an action kind of girl—so how do I tell him what I want and how I feel? I'm really bad at this sort of thing, so any ideas or courage-inspiring speeches would be great._

_Sincerely,_

_Leery of Leaping_

* * *

_Dear Leery,_

_I am thrilled to hear that Cautious took my advice and that a beautiful friendship has blossomed as a result—I know he was worried about how you might respond to his overtures._

_My dear, dear girl… You've asked the question that every single person must ask themselves when standing on the edge of something life-changing: is it time and is this right? I have to say that these are questions that only you and your friend can answer for yourselves. Life and love are all about making choices and taking risks, never knowing if your leap will pay off._

_But it seems to me that you two have managed to learn quite a bit about each other and earn each other's trust through writing back and forth, and trust is one of the biggest keys to a healthy, lasting relationship (romantic or otherwise). I would advise you to listen to your heart on this matter, to take that leap of faith and be daring. And maybe consider that perhaps life has knocked you both down so that you could recognize how best to keep each other lifted up and cherish what you have in each other._

_And as for ideas, go with something that speaks to the two of you. Best of luck to you and to Cautious._

_Sincerely,_

_Mary Margaret_

* * *

Killian reads every word at least twice, hardly daring to believe what he sees there in plain black ink. Carefully, he places the paper down and braces his palms on the edge of the table in front of him, his heart beating an erratic, frantic tattoo in his chest. He knew how much his friendship with Swan meant to him, but to see her declaration, to read her words and know that he means just as much to her… His mind has difficulty wrapping itself around that amazing, awesome thought. It's then that he remembers the bakery box and notices an envelope sitting beneath it, "Read Me" written across the back.

He opens it slowly, carefully, anxious to know what it says, yet wanting to savor the moment:

_To my Dearest K,_

_Crossword puzzle answers don't prepare you for something like this, so I'm just going to jump on in here. I've known for a while that you were and are the best friend I have ever had. You care about me in a way that no one ever has before, and because that care is so special and precious to me, I never wanted to do anything to change that._

_But the day you told Victor off for hitting on me was the day I first hoped that maybe we could change things for the better. If you think we can too, use the enclosed ticket and meet me at the Huntington Library at 2 PM—I don't imagine I need to tell you where to look._

_Yours,_

_E._

_P.S.—Ruby confirmed that this was your favorite, so I asked Granny to make one with extra chocolate just for you. Enjoy!_

In the box is indeed his favorite cupcake from Granny's—a triple chocolate, with a dark chocolate filling and chocolate buttercream frosting—with a beautifully piped red rose on top. He smiles, knowing immediately that his Swan has researched and knows precisely what the deep red color means.

Aside from the extensive library and art collection, the Huntington Library also has extensive grounds that have been cultivated as one of the premiere botanical gardens in California—with a particularly famous Rose Garden. At exactly 1:55 PM, Killian—dressed in black slacks, gray button down with the sleeves rolled up, and a black waistcoat, carrying the box from Granny's under his arm—strides into the grand house and immediately heads toward the walkway that leads to the Shakespeare garden and where his Swan awaits.

Normally, he'd spare a glance for the bright blue sky and the sunlit roses, but he only has eyes for the marble columns just up ahead, marking the reconstructed statute of cupid and his lover. Her back is to him, and it takes him a moment to catch his breath at the sight of her: her long hair is pulled back into a ponytail and the ends curled; she's wearing a vibrant cerulean blue sleeveless dress that falls just above her knees, the full skirt bells out a bit and cinches at her slim waist with a white belt. She's an absolute vision.

She must feel his gaze because without any sound or movement on his part, she turns and looks directly at him. And he forgets to breathe again because her smile is so bright and wide and welcoming, but slightly shy as well. He clears his throat and straightens his back before stepping forward, a blush creeping slowly up his neck as he notices that she's holding a single rose that matches the ones surrounding the statue—a bright, bright pink variety commonly called "Passionate Kisses."

He stops a few feet in front of her and bows (thanking his memories of royal protocol for not abandoning him). "I believe you summoned me, my lady Swan."

She swallows nervously, taking him in for the first time without any anonymous fictions between them. "You didn't eat your cupcake."

He scratches the back of his neck and looks abashed before producing two plastic forks wrapped in a napkin from his back pocket. "I've heard that most things in life—the sweet as well as the bitter, the bad as well as the good—are best when shared… What do you say we find out, my lady Swan?"

When she smiles at him, it's his turn to swallow because she looks read to consume him whole. She takes the rose bud and breaks a significant portion of the stem off, and then carefully tucks it into the lapel of his waistcoat. Her hands remain on his chest, smoothing over the fabric thoughtfully before she looks back up into his eyes. She takes moves one hand up to wrap around the back of his neck and smiles again. "It's Emma, and I'd like that more than anything."

They lean into each other as their lips meet for the first time, beginning soft and sweet but quickly turning hard and fiery. They have to brush grass off the napkin and eat a cupcake that's been slightly smushed on one side, but what matters is that they enjoy it together.

 


End file.
